


Dibs

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Near Death Experiences, Prayer, bc of the 'nearly drowning in the channel' thing, in which the gods are children arguing over who was their friend first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: “Poseidon favoursme!”cries the little girl balanced on top of a mast, and Poseidon laughs. Her boldness amuses him.“Look out for her, if you can. She’s part of my pack,” prays Grizzop, and Artemis takes a look at her. The woman would do well in a Hunt.“You can’t keep getting hurt like this,” berates Azu gently, Laying On Hands, and Aphrodite feels a smile curl across her lips. She’s always been a sucker for a good friends-to-lovers.





	Dibs

**Author's Note:**

> idk where all of this inspiration is coming from but it Sure Is Here! Working Title: _blame tabbyclaw its all their fault_

Poseidon is busy, and he’s been avoiding Zolf’s prayers for weeks now anyway, so he worries about other duties instead of his cleric’s journey across a channel.

Zolf was a sailor; he can handle it.

And he’s doing just fine ignoring that journey until he hears, faintly, over the ever-present sound of shanties and prayers from the deep, a faint voice. It’s not terribly familiar, but he knows it’s the girl Zolf feels so protective over. She’s hollering, “Poseidon favours _me!”_ at the top of her lungs, trying to be heard over the storm, and Poseidon chuckles.

It’s a brave claim to make, twelve feet up on a mast swaying wildly upon waves he has control of. Her boldness amuses him. Poseidon takes a second to _look_ at her. She’s _good,_ in the way so few people are, but she’s unafraid of bloodshed. She cares deeply; she takes risks. Poseidon decides he likes her. 

Favour her, no, but he does _like_ her.

So he’s understandably distressed when a particularly strong gust of wind knocks her off of the boat because he wasn’t paying attention. She’s sucked under by a swell, and she can’t swim. 

(Poseidon is mad at Zolf. Zolf cares about Sasha. Poseidon could take Sasha away as a punishment for not giving him any sacrifices.)

(Poseidon is not mad at Sasha. Sasha tried to find proper sacrifices. Sasha has taken to the sea in the way not many can on a voyage such as this.)

He helps her to the surface, slightly, as if she did it herself. She takes in great gulps of air, and then Poseidon is distracted from her. Because Zolf has just thrown his chainmail (what) and his trident (WHAT) into the ocean and leapt in after her.

(Poseidon is mad at Zolf. Poseidon is not mad at Sasha. Sasha cares about Zolf.)

The God sighs heavily and shoves away all of the echoing chants and cries and _whatever else_ his followers are throwing at him, trying to save his stupid, peg-legged cleric who _can’t swim_ and his new hopeful who _also can’t swim._ You’d think, after all these years, he’d be better at finding followers. He speeds the storm along its path some, centring his two idiots in the eye where they’ll be safe.

His attention is diverted from the storm to his cleric as Zolf screams, “I’m _sorry,_ alright? _I’m sorry!_ I’ll do _better!_ Just- don’t kill my friends!” Sasha thrashes in the water, and her lungs are far too close to giving out. “Please,” whispers Zolf desperately, one hand clutching at Sasha’s jacket and the other trying to summon a disc. 

(He did ask nicely.) 

Poseidon’s hand moves in tandem with his cleric’s, and the disc appears beneath them. Zolf ineffectually attempts to drag Sasha up onto it, and Poseidon rolls his eyes. _So selfless._ “Thank you,” mutters Zolf, and Poseidon holds the eye of the storm where it is for a moment longer, letting these mortal idiots catch their breath. 

Favour them, no, but he does _like_ them.

•°•°•  
°•°•°

Artemis can’t take the time to listen to all of her follower’s prayers. She’s busy Hunting, and even if she wasn’t, they’re all the same stale verses. Well, for the most part. There is the occasional burial rite from a cleric from Amsterdam’s eighth, and those always make her laugh. She takes special care to listen to her paladins, though. Clive and Arkus and Grizzop tend to take her main focus. 

Grizzop is mostly asleep, leaned against the foot of his bed instead of curled up in it. “I’ve told you,” he mumbles, “about Sasha, right? My friend? With the daggers? She was the one who was undead for a bit, botched resurrection. I met her in Prague while I was hunting down Kafka.” Artemis has heard about Sasha. Artemis has heard a _lot_ about Sasha. Grizzop feels so protective of her, and he’s always delighted by whatever it is she’s done. 

Artemis settles a bit in the room, and her symbol on Grizzop’s breastplate glows faintly. He smiles at it. “Hey, I knew you were listening.” He takes the breastplate off so he can talk at it. There’s no real room for an altar, so his silvered armour has to do. 

(Artemis kind of likes it. It makes her feel like she’s helping to protect her paladins even when she’s focused on something else.)

Grizzop continues, “It’s just- well, Sasha’s been going through a lot, you know? We all have! There were the zombies, and then Bertie died- I think his name was Bertie, it might have been Barry. I don’t know. I said it one way and Sasha agreed with me, but then Hamid disagreed, and Hamid was Bertie-Or-Barry’s closest friend, so I’m inclined to believe _him,_ but—”

Artemis’s symbol pulses lightly, a reminder for Grizzop to get back on track. He smiles at it sheepishly. “Right. Yeah. Off topic. Sorry. What was I sayi- oh! Yeah, Sasha! She’s been through a lot. Look out for her, if you can? I- she’s part of my pack.” He fidgets with the earring that he’d bought with his own money after he’d been officially chosen as a paladin. A tiny silver stud with a moonstone in the centre.

Artemis doesn’t make a habit of talking to her followers, but she does, just this once. _“Sleep,”_ she instructs, and Grizzop grins. He gives his makeshift-altar a polite bow— more of a head dip than anything— and clambers into the bed. Artemis doesn’t say anything else, but she knows that Grizzop will notice the moon’s light shining a little more brightly on him. He’s perceptive like that.

Sasha sighs heavily. In the next room over, she sits curled up in the corner of her bed. Artemis scrutinises her: the knives tucked about her person, the carefully-clean leather jacket, the deep bags under her eyes. The woman would do well in a Hunt. Artemis is busy, she has Hunts to oversee. She doesn’t have time to watch over one human, no matter how much that human would fit in. Artemis can spare a bit of moonlight, though, to keep her safe.

°•°•°  
•°•°•

 

Aphrodite is usually rather busy with her godly duties, but she does take time to listen to her followers. What kind of love goddess would she be if she didn’t show her patrons some well-won affection? She has to sort through them, a bit. Most of the prayers are from lovesick teenagers who want a better shot, and she almost always sends them a teensy bit of charm to help them out. They never _do_ anything with the charm when they’ve got it, but she _did_ answer their prayers, so that’s her job done. The more interesting prayers come from her priestesses and priests.

And, of course, her priests and priestesses in training. 

“You shouldn’t be this reckless,” tugs at her attention. There’s so much worry buried in Azu’s scolding that Aphrodite can’t help but look. Her priestess-in-training has her hands on a young woman’s shoulders, holding her up and looking her over thoroughly. The woman— Sasha— frowns, face going a bit pink under the attention. Aphrodite waves away the rest of the prayers clamouring for her attention. 

Sasha shrugs, which is quite a feat from a half-dead woman laid out on the ground. Aphrodite notices the way she’s careful not to dislodge Azu’s hands. “I don’t know,” Sasha deflects, “you always heal me up pretty good.” And isn’t that heartfelt? Aphrodite coos, resting her chin in her hand as she focuses on the sweet scene unfolding. 

Azu sighs. She moves her hands from Sasha’s shoulders to hold her by the waist, where the worst of the injuries are. Aphrodite can’t tell if the blush gets worse, because more of her energy is spent helping Azu. “You can’t keep getting hurt like this,” berates Azu gently, Laying On Hands, and Aphrodite feels a smile curl across her lips. “You’re too important to us.”

And oh, Sasha’s gone _red_ at that! Aphrodite silently endeavours to win the young woman over to her cult. It will only make the (hopefully soon-to-be-realised) feelings between her and Azu easier to deal with. And besides, what can Aphrodite say? She’s always been a sucker for a good friends-to-lovers.

•°•°•  
°•°•°

 _“I_ should get her—”  
“She isn’t something to be _gotten,_ she’s a person with feelings—”  
“Yes, which is far more than can be said for _you,_ so she should obviously join _my_ cult—”  
“Oh, go get into a fight with the roses again!”  
“Well, I _never—”_  
“While you two are having your catfight, I think—”  
_“Catfight?_ Oh, uncle, do you just—”

And then Sasha’s voice cuts through the bickering. “Hey,” she mutters, and all three of them shut up to properly listen. Sasha doesn’t pray. Sure, when she was younger, but not anymore. “I know I haven’t really. Like. _Talked_ to you, but y’know. I was talking with Grizzop earlier—” Artemis shoots the other two gods a victorious grin— “about Zolf—” Poseidon punches her in the shoulder— “and I just. I miss him, you know? I don’t know if you know him, I never told you about him, and he was really more into Poseidon than you, so.”

Poseidon grumbles, having lost any right to claim the prayer as his own, and the two goddesses listen closer.

“I know you’re probably busy. And I know you haven’t heard from me in years, but—”

Artemis, who’s never gotten a prayer from Sasha, groans. “When she was thirteen, she asked for help with a crush on a boy. I _told_ you she should join me,” gloats Aphrodite. Artemis huffs indignantly. It’s a waste, if you ask her, to have all of Sasha’s potential given to someone who’s only concerned about love and feelings.

“—you’re the god of travels, right?” asks Sasha, and all three of them blink. “Thieves, too, I guess, which is why I even know about you, but, like. If you can help Zolf have safe travels, wherever he is, that’d be. I dunno. Nice, I guess. Please. Yeah. Uh, I think that’s it. Cheers. I guess.”

The prayer stops.

The sounds of a beautiful lyre come from the back of the hall. “I know they say don’t shoot the messenger, but—” is about as far as Hermes gets before there’s already an arrow in his hat, a delicate fist where his face used to be, and a trident in the wall where he was floating not a second before.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @roswyrm come interact with me! give me fic prompts! talk to me about rqg! i'll listen enthusiastically! !!!


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